


Crescent of the Sun

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Birds, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Birds, Carrier Pigeons, Crack Treated Seriously, Crows, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Multi, Pigeons, Russian Mafia, Some Humor, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: "A name is a very powerful thing. Make sure you don't just give yours to anyone."





	1. Agent Cooforov

**Author's Note:**

  * For [possibleplatypus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibleplatypus/gifts).



> Mafia stories are usually dark and well...I can't don't write dark stories. So instead, I wanted to make a funny mafia story with the YoI characters as birds!

**What the World knew:**

  1. He is a decorated agent with fifty-seven confirmed kills
  2. An agent with a cheap rate: _one (1) bag of sunflower seeds_
  3. He’s flexible: _able to change with a heartbeat_
  4. Confidence hid behind his name, not in front of it
  5. An everyday citizen with a humility to do what is right



**What the World saw:**

  1. A pigeon: __a European Turtle Dove, to be precise__

* * *




One of the greatest things about being a bird was that people left you food.

Pecktor was no novice when it came to enticing Humans, fluffing up his chest and strutting around in circles. Cooing, cocking his head to the side, and fluttering his eyelids before performing cheap tricks for a bit of a pretzel, _or if he was lucky,_ an entire muffin. And when he was sure that no one was looking, Pecktor dug his claws into the pastry and tried to fly off with it.

Quite difficult to lift a 168 gram muffin, along with his 170 gram frame. Pretty much lifting a stuffed version of himself, but Pecktor managed a few centimetres before having to gobble up his fill before the other pigeons came. Squat, chunky birds that bobbed their heads every which way before beating their wings between a squishy crop.

Pecktor imitated them, cooing against his will when Humans passed by. Snapping pictures on their phones while Pecktor swiveled his head, memorizing their facial features and clothing.

The _poof_ of his feathers before some grain rained from the Heavens, from a gracious young man that passed by with Starbucks. Rounded bits of corn poked and plopped over Pecktor’s head and wings, and he shook the grains off before his gaze slanted towards a tiny earpiece, littered amongst the grain. With pigeon heads bobbing up and down for a feast, Pecktor had to fill his crop. Stretching his wings and circling around to keep the competition away.

A larger male charged up, extending his chest before striking in with a peck. Pecktor smacked with his wings, lunged in and plucked feathers. The other bird jabbed at Pecktor’s head, shoving the latter to the side. Pecktor’s head swatted with his claws, grabbing the larger bird’s chest before yanking him down to the concrete. Ripping feathers and pride as the bigger bird squirmed and shrieked. Corn bits flew away from the batting wings until all was left was a black earpiece.

Pecktor didn’t let go until the bird called mercy. He leaned his head down, beak parted into some twist of a smile  before reaching over for the black earpiece. Clutched it tightly before he flew onto a nearby tree, roosted comfortably on a thick branch.

He managed to hold onto the earpiece with his digits before pecking at a button on the side.

A gruff voice came on. An address was issued. Pecktor memorized it before taking off. Catching the warm air currents for a leisurely flight across Moscow before looking down, recognizing the few Humans that took pictures of him. He fiddled with the other side of the earpiece and the Humans’ phones were wiped cleaned, much to their utter dismay.

No one needed to know that _Pecktor Cooforov_ was just an every day bird, trying to eat.


	2. Carrier Pigeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moscow to St. Petersburg was roughly over 710 kilometers. Was it absurd to send a bird-- _a mere carrier pigeon _\--to these such lengths when a phone call, telegram, email, or a handwritten letter would’ve sufficed? Heck, Pecktor thought the same thing until he took a train.__

**Assignment Log #813**

_ Send message to following coordinates: 59° 56′ 3″ N, 30° 20′ 15″ E _

* * *

 

Pecktor preened himself while his handler,  _ Yakov Feltsman,  _ suited him up for battle.

A leather harness strapped over and around his squishy body while a slice of parchment was tucked into one of the inner pockets. Fastened by a relentless, brass buckle that refused to open unless someone was willing to manhandle Pecktor. But the  _ European Turtle Dove  _ trusted his handler, much like how Yakov trusted him with the message he had to send.

The creases over Yakov’s face were still the same, even back when Pecktor was a tiny squab that feebly fell out of a nest because he was impatient with his parents. When Yakov cupped the tiny squab that day, he saw a bird that was willing to lay its own life for its country.

Not that Pecktor had any national ties to Russia, but the pigeon had done more than a good service when it came to keeping secrets... _ well, secret. _

Just before Pecktor was set free, Yakov rubbed his thumb over the back of Pecktor’s head and the pigeon cooed and fluffed himself before stretching his wings for flight. The brisk flutter tore the bird into the sky, and Yakov watched from his apartment’s balcony until Pecktor vanished without a trace. A mere smudge, faded to the back of a masterpiece.

Moscow to St. Petersburg was roughly over 710 kilometers. Was it absurd to send a bird-- _ a mere carrier pigeon-- _ to these such lengths when a phone call, telegram, email, or a handwritten letter would’ve sufficed? Heck, Pecktor thought the same thing until he took a train.

Cooing as he fluttered down stair steps and ducked through security because he was just a bird with a mission. His little eyes focused on the train dogs-- _ messy mutts that waited under benches or corralled in search for food. _

These dogs  _ knew  _ trains. Backwards, forwards, where stops were, and so on. All Pecktor had to do was hitch a ride and hope that no one was going to eat him.  _ Again.  _ Fairly simple on the bird’s part when a squeaky whistle crept from his beak.

A whistle that prisoners would do to lead a dog to their cell, but Pecktor was looking for a very specific dog. A poodle and a big one was coming up, a soggy newspaper crushed between her jaws. This was Makkachin:  _ a standard poodle with no home of her own, but she revered Pecktor as her own pup.  _ Quick to jump at the pigeon when he got too close, but Pecktor knew a few whistle commands. He scratched the underside of his wing before getting down to business.

He needed a train to St. Petersburg.

Makkachin booped Pecktor’s beak with her nose, staring deeply into those odd, teal eyes that made Pecktor a rather intimidating bird to look at. But the poodle didn’t see the eyes of a  _ killer,  _ she saw the warmth of a bird that needed a little time off.

Makkachin asked if Pecktor had eaten yet. Pecktor cooed.

He didn’t have time for this. Makkachin figured as much before lowering her head so that the pigeon could hop on. However, Makkachin took a path that few would travel on. Instead of heading straight to the trains, Makkachin led Pecktor through an ensemble of concession stands that crowded along the walls. Vendors with hot treats and drinks, peeling posters of Humans doing  _ Human-things, _ and other distractions that served to aggravate Pecktor than vice-versa.

But when he peered his head down and looked into Makkachin’s eyes,  _ upside down,  _ he saw the preciousness of life through the reflections that gazed back at him. Makkachin,  _ bless her heart,  _ saw comfort and happiness when the world really didn’t work that way.

Pecktor wanted to see that world but then, he remembered the parchment.

The parchment message concealed over his chest because he was a carrier bird, and his life had begun anew ever since Yakov lifted him up from a desolate world.

Pecktor could never be a  _ normal  _ bird, not when other birds were nearby. Watching his every move to learn what made him tick, and Pecktor hated it. But he had no say in the matter because Humans don’t understand coos, and Pecktor didn’t understand... _ words. _

Just a bunch of hand-signals at the tip of his brain, but there was nothing about bird-etiquette in the lessons. Nothing about the simple  _ “Heys” _ and  _ “Hellos” _ of the bird language, and Pecktor doubted that any bird would want to learn about poison and revenge.

_ Ease your mind, Peck.  _ Makkachin’s booming bark shook Pecktor back to reality.

They were suddenly on a train to St. Petersburg and Pecktor had his head nuzzled on top of a tuft of fur that seemed to blossom like a cloud under his touch. Pecktor wished he could be like Makkachin. He really did.

 

\---

 

**Mission Log #7**

_ Intercept the following: _

* * *

 

Minako showed her avian a picture. The crow cocked his head to the side, memorizing the features.

The speckled pattern splashed across the wings. Of orange and black checkered squares across a grayish-blue while teal eyes perched to the side of a nobby head. A burnt red coloration over the legs. That was the last detail before the crow bowed his head for his handler.

Minako ran a finger down her bird’s velvety feathers before the crow was fitted with his  _ talons.  _ Serrated-knives for a bird’s digits when Minako tightened the leather straps around the ankle and her bird was ready.

Yuwing only had one mission for today:  _ Intercept  _ a handsome pigeon of his message.

And in the carrier-realm,  _ intercept  _ was just a cover word for  _ kill. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole premise of this story is pretty much mafia!messenger birds trying to intercept each other of messages so...


	3. A Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _3:18 p.m. ___
> 
> __When asked what his name was, Pecktor lied. _“Coomitri.” _____
> 
> ____A name was a very powerful thing; he couldn’t just give his to anybody._ _ _ _
> 
> ____The crow stretched his wings, wrapping one over the top of Pecktor’s back. _“Yuwing.” _____ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with college admissions and school starting up soon and with me participating in a YoI big bang and applying to some zines, i'm going to be busy. i'll try to update this fic every few days.

**What the World knew:**

  1. He is an assassin with six confirmed kills
  2. A mercenary with a cheap rate: _neck rubs_
  3. A _Dark Horse: a psychological sadist from the depths of Hell_
  4. He is a monster bound to mortal flesh
  5. They-- _and “they” is a mere reference--_ say he’s a demon



**What the World saw:**

  1. A crow: __a Tokyo crow with the most docile features__

* * *




_ 3:00 p.m. _

Pecktor arrived to St. Petersburg and preened his chest-feathers before hopping off of Makkachin. He carefully dug his bill under the leather harness strapped around his tiny-self, scratching an itchy spot before Makkachin jogged down the train station for a way back home.

_ 3:04 p.m. _

A lone chicken nugget under a train bench, and Pecktor was hungry. Having only eaten a bit of a muffin and some corn, his crop was empty and the pigeon cooed as he approached the lone nugget. Propped on its side, probably fell out of a to-go bag. Pecktor glanced to his left and right. No one noticed the bounty so Pecktor pecked at his treasure until he tore a chunk off.

_ 3:10 p.m. _

Crop a bit heavier, Pecktor waddled around the train station before hopping up the stair steps to escape. Wings fluttering ever so slightly because he had to be careful. There weren’t a lot of birds out.

_ 3:11 p.m. _

Pecktor heard a  _ caw  _ in the distance. Somewhere in the trees, there was a bird. Pecktor hopped into a bush and hid amongst the foliage, eyes darting left and right. Trying to spot a flick of black or the twisting torso of a crow. He wasn’t alone.

_ 3:12 p.m. _

Forced to stay in the shadows, Pecktor bobbed his head as he rounded a corner to get to his destination. Head hunched over so that no one would notice the leather harness on him. Just as he approached a grand central food court or something, he spotted  _ him. _

_ 3:12:49 p.m. _

There was a crow, a chubby bird with brilliant  _ cinnamon  _ eyes. A cozy chest of feathers, puffed out as the bird tried to keep warm. Wings shivering because most of the feathers were gone. Almost as if an animal had gotten to him, and Pecktor was weak to the low  _ purr  _ that warbled from the crow’s throat.

The slow sashay of the tail feathers when the crow buried his face closer to his chest feathers when a gust came by, showering bits of snow on a Summer afternoon. In actuality, it was just some salt in the wind, but the white crystals illuminated over the crow’s feathers and he gave Pecktor the softest look in the world.

Brown eyes rounded with worry, with a need for companionship. Pecktor parted his beak, the lower portion falling off the edge of the earth because  _ this bird  _ was desperate for assistance and Pecktor had a job to do.

_ 3:17 p.m. _

It was a bit embarrassing. Just standing in silence. A pigeon looking at a crow while a crow fluttered his eyelids, morse-coding for help. This was by the far the most awkward situation Pecktor had ever come across, and he was stuck in the middle. Unable to move forward, unable to move back.

Eventually, he waddled over to the crow and cooed. A perky coo that made the crow feel special. Pecktor poked the crow’s head with his beak, a gentle pat to mention that everything was going to be okay.

_ 3:18 p.m. _

When asked what his name was, Pecktor lied.  _ “Coomitri.” _

A name was a very powerful thing; he couldn’t just give his to anybody.

The crow stretched his wings, wrapping one over the top of Pecktor’s back.  _ “Yuwing.” _

_ 3:19 p.m. _

Pecktor recognized that name.

_ 3:19:12 p.m. _

The pigeon fled. Shot to the sky before flying away.

He couldn’t go to his destination.

_ 3:19:56 p.m. _

If a crow could smirk, the slight part along Yuwing’s beak gave him an edge. He imitated a whistle and  _ Lee Sae-Gil  _ swooped into action. Barreling through St. Petersburg in a bird’s version of  _ Mach 20,  _ closing in on his target.

_ 3:20:22 p.m. _

Pecktor dived and rolled past window and shop curtains, trying to find a happy median.

If he was too low, an overgrown  _ raptor  _ would easily crush him in a jet of talons.

If he was too high…

_ 3:21 p.m. _

Pecktor flew into a store front’s flag. Knocking the pole onto the ground, the Russian pigeon was trapped under the fabric. The spur of colors suddenly all around him confused Pecktor. He tried to kick the flag off of him, but it disoriented him. Circling around and only meeting the colors of red and white.

_ 3:22 p.m. _

A familiar set of eyes stared at Pecktor from a small opening.

Pecktor hissed but an ugly set of talon scratched into the concrete before his feet. The kind of talons that a  _ mercenary  _ would wear, and Pecktor huddled back when Yuwing came forward.

He was still a docile bird, with the lack of feathers and sweet disposition in his stance. Just hunkered on his foot was a  _ gnarly weapon  _ that could pluck a pigeon’s heart out. _ Pecktor’s heart.  _ And the stubborn organ jumped a mile a minute beneath his chest, beneath the message that he was supposed to guard with his life.

_ 3:22:16 p.m. _

A slice of an eclipse seared the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have bird puns in the names.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @joey-wingster


End file.
